by Kaki Warner
Lean Bear didn’t respond, but studied Declan hard, his dark eyes giving away nothing of his thoughts. After Thomas finished speaking, he motioned for them to sit.
Thomas shook his head. In a voice directed at Lean Bear but loud enough to be heard by the villagers gathered around, Thomas said in Cheyenne, slowly and clearly enough that even Declan could understand, “I have come for my woman. The woman Lone Tree has stolen from me, his Cheyenne brother.”
Murmurs rose from the Indians crowding close.
Indians, Declan knew, often raided and warred with other tribes, taking horses, weapons, food, and even slaves. But it was unacceptable to steal from members of your own tribe.
Lean Bear raised a hand for silence. When the murmuring stopped, he said something Declan couldn’t make out. Judging by the sudden rigidity in Thomas’s posture, it wasn’t anything good.
“Then I demand a council,” Thomas said in Cheyenne.
More murmurs from the onlookers, but Declan couldn’t tell if they were approving the call for a council or opposing it.
After several back and forth exchanges, Lean Bear nodded, and sent for the men of the council, as well as Lone Tree. This time when he motioned for Thomas and Declan to sit, they did.
Other than several young boys playing a game of ring and pin, the crowd around them settled in to wait, too, sitting quietly on the ground, the braves in front of the women, legs crossed Indian fashion, forearms resting on their knees.
From where he sat, Declan could see the bluff. But aware that Lean Bear was studying him, he didn’t give it undue attention, not wanting to alert the chief to the soldiers’ presence. Keeping his expression impassive, he stared straight ahead and tried not to think about Pru tied to the pole.
And waited. Again. Christ, he was sick of it.
The Come All You Sinners Church of Heartbreak Creek was a sad affair, boasting an out-of-tune piano played by the pastor’s wife, Biddy, a pastor with wild gray hair that might have been styled by Medusa herself, two prim choir ladies, and five half-filled pews. When Edwina led in her four children, followed by Lucinda and Maddie, then Miriam and Billy, the bellboy from the hotel, the congregation instantly doubled.
Pastor Rickman was a Bible thumper from way back with such arm-waving enthusiasm for his subject—this week’s being the perils of the devil’s brew on the sanctity of marriage—he was sweating like a farm animal by the time Biddy pounded out the closing hymn, an off-key, but boisterously earnest rendition of “Safe in the Arms of Jesus.”
It was one of Edwina’s favorites. But today, when she came to the words “Only a few more trials, Only a few more tears,” her throat constricted with such fear for Pru and Declan she couldn’t utter a note.
“Don’t worry,” a voice whispered over Biddy’s vigorous attack on the keyboard.
Edwina looked over to find R.D. studying her and, peering around him, the worried faces of his brothers and Brin.
“It’ll be all right.” He smiled, looking so like his father in that moment she wanted to throw her arms around him.
“He’ll be back soon,” Lucas whispered.
Edwina felt such sudden and overwhelming love for this poor, broken family—her family, now—she almost burst into tears. “Pray for them,” she said in a wobbly voice.
“No need.” Joe Bill’s grin showed supreme confidence. “If Pa said he’ll bring her back, he will.”
Lucas nodded solemnly. “Pa never lies.”
“Can we go now?” Brin asked, her skinny legs swinging impatiently beneath the hem of her birthday dress. “This dang thing itches me terrible.”
Caught off guard, Edwina laughed out loud.
Which drew all eyes her way and apparently irritated the Lord no end, because as soon as she stepped out of the little church and into the bright sunshine, He put Alice Waltham and her demon spawn, Mary Lynn, square in her path.
“You there!”
Seeing no escape, Edwina pasted on a smile and walked toward her. “Why, Alice Waltham, fancy meeting you in a place like this. And you’ve brought that precious Mary Lynn.” Bending down, she tweaked the girl’s pudgy cheek. “ ’Pon my soul, child, you look like a giant strawberry cupcake in that pretty pink dress. I could just eat you up.”
“Is it true?” the flinching child’s mother demanded angrily. “That Mr. Brodie has gone after that darky the Indians stole?”
Edwina straightened and, trying to maintain a smidgen of Christian charity—at least until she left the church steps—refrained from striking the woman. “If you mean Prudence Lincoln, then yes, he has gone to find her.”
“And yet he wouldn’t even try to find his own wife? I wonder why? Unless he had something to do with her disappearance!”
The cupcake snickered and rubbed at the red mark Edwina had left on her balloon cheek.
Facial muscles twitching, Edwina turned to nod to Lucinda and Maddie. “Would you mind taking the children back to the hotel,” she asked, sweetly.
“Shall I send for Doc Boyce?” Lucinda murmured under her breath.
“Not for me.” Then in a louder voice, “Children, run along with Miss Hathaway and Mrs. Wallace. I’ll be there directly.”
After they left, she turned back to Alice Waltham, no longer feeling so charitable. “I know you were a good friend to the late Mrs. Brodie,” she began, working hard to keep her voice from shaking. “But you do her memory a disservice to spread gossip that might hurt her children—”
“I don’t spread—”
“Oh, do hush,” Edwina snapped. Then before the wretched woman would interrupt again, she added, “Now the facts are these, Mrs. Waltham. Sally Brodie chose to leave her family. After doing so, she and her gentleman friend were killed by Indians, as reported by the troopers who found their remains. Sad though it might be, there it is. To blame Mr. Brodie for that is wrong. It is also cruel to her children. So I am telling you to stop spreading false accusations. Immediately. Do you understand?”
Mary Lynn was so surprised, her finger slid out of her nose.
Her mother seemed more shocked than surprised, and turned the same purple color of a bruised, overripe plum. Edwina had a sudden ghoulish urge to poke a livid cheek to see if it would burst into a pulpy mass.
“You actually believe that?” Alice gave a braying laugh that made Edwina’s ears ring. “You actually believe Declan Brodie had nothing to do with Sally’s death?”
“I do. Fervently. As does anyone with the intellect of a gnat.”
“What’s fervently mean, Mama?”
Shoving her daughter aside, Alice huffed at Edwina. “Well, you’re wrong! Sally loved those children. She would never leave them.”
“And yet, alas, she did.” Edwina shook her head, astounded by the woman’s blind faith in her unfaithful friend. “She must have been a remarkable person to inspire loyalty that reaches so far beyond fact and sensibility.”
“What?”
“I wish you good day, Mrs. Waltham. Do not approach me again with this nonsense.” Head high, Edwina whirled and started toward the hotel.
“If Sally left, she had reason,” the enraged woman called after her. “Ask yourself, Mrs. Brodie, what would drive a woman from the children she loved. Her husband, that’s what. And now that same man has left you to go chasing after some nigger. Think about that before you jump to defend him.”
Edwina stopped. Sighing, she sent an apology skyward. You saw, Lord. I tried to be nice. I tried to show charity. But really. Enough is enough.
Taking a deep breath, Edwina turned.
The sun rose higher, beating down on Declan’s back as he and Thomas sat before Lean Bear’s tent and waited. Around them, others shifted restlessly and spoke in low voices. A woman crooned to a fussy baby strapped to a cradleboard, while a rangy dog licked the infant’s pudgy arm. The boys grew bored playing with the ring and pin and ran through the tipis practicing their throwing skills with the hoop and dart game. Several women talked softly as they sewed porcupine qu
ills and shells and carved beads in decorative patterns on softened buckskin.
And still they waited.
Declan felt a drop of sweat roll from under his hat, down his neck to soak into the back of his shirt. A fly buzzed around his head, but he ignored it, as well as the ache in his knees from sitting crosslegged on the hard ground. Realizing he was clenching his teeth, he made himself stop and tried not to think of water and how thirsty he was.
He didn’t know how Thomas could sit there so utterly still. If it had been his woman tied to that pole, Declan didn’t think he could have been so patient. But then, he doubted Thomas felt as strongly for Prudence Lincoln as he did for Ed.
He wondered what she was doing. If she was thinking about him as much as he’d been thinking about her. If she had really meant it when she’d told him she loved him. But she said it, so it must be true. If he’d learned anything in their short marriage, it was that Ed was as different from Sally as a woman could get. She didn’t lie. And he thanked God for that.
Soon, he thought. They could go back to the ranch, put it to rights, and get on with their lives.
He hadn’t felt so hopeful in a long time.
The council members finally arrived, grave-faced old warriors, wearing their war bonnets and roach headdresses, the decorations on their war shirts attesting to their deeds in battle. On their heels came Lone Tree, a hard set to his jaw. When his gaze fell on Declan, a shadow moved behind his eyes, something not quite human, like a demon barely glimpsed behind a gauzy curtain.
Declan stared back, forcing the other man to look away first to answer the greeting from his chief. Declan wondered why it had taken Lone Tree so long to answer the summons and hoped he hadn’t done anything to Pru.
The Arapaho hadn’t aged well. Muscle had withered away and there was a sallow tint beneath his ruddy skin that marked him a drinker. A band of white cut through his long, greasy hair, and the wildness in his eyes told Declan that whatever had broken inside his head during those five days in jail had never mended.
At Lean Bear’s urging, the elders, along with Lone Tree and Thomas, settled in a circle on the ground outside the chief’s tipi. Declan sat at Thomas’s back, the villagers fanned out behind him.
Lean Bear lit the council pipe, and the old men took turns, offering prayers or speaking of things Declan didn’t understand. The scent of Indian tobacco smoke hung sweet and pungent in the still air, overriding the smell of curing hides, the latrine, and horse dung. After the pipe had made its rounds and silence had settled again, Chief Lean Bear began to speak.
Although Declan knew a smattering of Cheyenne, it was a difficult language to master with all its musical vowels and long descriptive words, so he understood only half of Thomas’s words, and almost none of the chief’s mumbled speech. But relying on expressions, tones, and various reactions, he caught the gist of what was said. Once Lean Bear finished explaining to the council members that they had been called to decide a matter between Thomas and Lone Tree, he invited Thomas to speak.
Tension crackled in the air as Thomas rose. He solemnly greeted the elders, then pointed at Lone Tree and began speaking so fast Declan couldn’t follow. Lone Tree started to interrupt, but Lean Bear waved him to silence, and Thomas continued. When he finished, Thomas sat back down.
Then it was Lone Tree’s turn.
Tension became open antagonism.
Where Thomas had spoken with calm assurance, the Arapaho gestured wildly, spit flying as he paced and shouted. Declan couldn’t make out the words, but he had no trouble understanding that most of Lone Tree’s ire was directed at him, rather than Thomas.
Declan wondered if he would be given a chance to answer whatever accusations Lone Tree was putting forth.
When the Arapaho finished, other braves came forward to speak. From the glares sent his way, Declan assumed they were speaking in support of Lone Tree. Two rose to speak for Thomas, but their speeches weren’t long and brought little response. After all had spoken, the elders asked questions of both Thomas and Lone Tree.
As the discussion continued and tempers rose, Declan watched Thomas’s back grow more and more rigid, and he knew things weren’t going well. After a while, Lean Bear raised a hand for silence. When the voices grew still, he said something to Lone Tree that made the Arapaho leap to his feet, shouting.
Others rose. Finally, with a snarl directed at Thomas and Declan, Lone Tree stomped away. Declan wanted to ask Thomas what had happened but sensed this wasn’t the time to distract him.
A few minutes later, Lone Tree came back. In his hand he held a length of braided leather. Attached to the other end was Prudence Lincoln, gagged, battered, her dress torn and bloody, her tied hands clinging frantically to the leather leash to keep it from cutting into her neck. Her dark eyes were twin pools of terror in her stricken face.
A vicious yank jerked her forward and onto her knees.
Both Declan and Thomas bolted to their feet and started toward her, but at an order from Chief Lean Bear, two braves jumped forward to bar their way with rifles.
Pru looked at the faces around her, her body shuddering with fear. Then she saw Thomas. A sound escaped the rag stuffed in her mouth, and she slumped forward, her lashed hands pressed to her swollen lips.
Lone Tree said something that sent Thomas charging toward him. Declan tried to fight his way to Pru and was again shoved back. More braves rose to crowd between the two snarling warriors.
Knocked flat by churning legs, Pru curled in the dirt, hands over her head, a whimper coming through the filthy rag in her mouth.
Chief Lean Bear’s shouts were barely heard over the threats singeing the air. Pointing at Pru, then at Lone Tree, he made a slashing motion. “Go,” he ordered in Cheyenne.
Triumphant, Lone Tree picked up the leash and kicked at the woman curled on the ground.
With a roar, Thomas lunged.
And in that instant Declan knew he meant to kill Lone Tree, and it would mean Thomas’s death, too.
“I see no blood,” Lucinda observed, looking up from the register as Edwina slammed through the lobby door.
“Where are the children?”
“In the dining room.” Crooking a finger at the bellboy posted beside the front door, Lucinda walked toward Edwina. “I would suggest you join them for lunch, but I’m out of raw meat. Billy, please tell the kitchen to prepare two plates and bring them to my room. The chicken, I think. And tell Yancey his nap is over.”
Linking her arm through Edwina’s, she ushered her up the stairs. “Don’t worry about the children. Maddie is with them, no doubt regaling them with outrageous stories of British soldiers and kilted Scotsmen. One, in particular. I don’t know why she left that man. She’s obviously still besotted with him.” Opening the door to her quarters, she waved Edwina inside, then closed the door behind her. “Let me guess,” she said, steering her toward one of the chintzupholstered chairs flanking the window, “things didn’t go well at church.”
Edwina sank down with a sigh. But before she could answer, Billy came in, pushing a cart loaded with two covered plates, tableware, glasses, and a frosty pitcher of lemonade.
While he set up a small table between the chintz chairs, Edwina stepped into Lucinda’s private water closet to wash off the stink of Alice Waltham’s accusations.
How could anyone think Declan capable of murder? For all his size and strength, he was a gentle, honorable man. A loving man.
Edwina stared at her reflection in the mirror above the washstand.
And he loves me. Edwina Ladoux Brodie. Imagine that.
Other than Pru—and in their own distracted ways, her brothers and Daddy and Shelly—no one had ever loved her. But Declan Brodie did. And that was worth more than all the others—except for Pru—put together.
Please be safe. Be safe and come back to me.
“So,” Lucinda said after Edwina returned to take her place at the table. “Tell me what you did to that sweet Alice Waltham.”
“Sweet like a cottonmouth, maybe.” Picking up her knife and fork, Edwina stared with little interest at the food on her plate. She had no appetite but knew she should eat. She was losing weight again with all her worrying. Resolved, she cut into a roasted chicken breast atop a bed of sage dressing. “I declare that woman makes as much sense as a two-headed hen. She insists Declan had something to do with his first wife’s death. Can you believe that? Naturally, I told her she was wrong.”
“That’s it? That’s all that happened?”
Edwina took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. “I might have said something about her daughter’s disgusting obsession with her nose, bless her heart.”
“And?”
“And these green beans are delicious.”
“Edwina!”
“And there might have been some name-calling. I don’t remember.”
“But you didn’t strike her.”
“Strike her? Gracious, no.” Edwina popped another green bean in her mouth and smiled. “Not yet.”
They ate in silence for a time while thoughts and worries and fears churned in Edwina’s mind. It was intolerable—the waiting and fretting—and she knew she would make herself sick if she didn’t find a more constructive way to spend her time. Then an idea occurred to her, and suddenly she was imbued with a sense of purpose she hadn’t felt since Pru was taken and Declan went after her.
“I have a proposal,” she announced.
Lucinda studied her over the rim of her glass. “Oh?”
“Since you seem to enjoy playing the part of Lady Bountiful with your ill-gotten gains, you might find this interesting.”
Lucinda set down her glass. “Might I?”
“It’s something Pru has talked about.” Edwina’s enthusiasm grew as her idea took shape. “A school for freedmen and women. To teach them to read and write.”
“I remember her mentioning it. But are there that many Negroes in Heartbreak Creek to warrant an entire school?”
“A room, then. Or one of the abandoned lean-tos down by the creek. Anything will do.”
